


Mapping the Malfoys: Perspectives on Magical Britain's Latest It Couple

by HenryMercury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, Lucius Malfoy is Extra, PWP: Proofreading What Proofreading, Uncharacterised First-Person Biographer, fictional non-fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: To commemorate the engagement of Mr Lucius Malfoy to Miss Narcissa Black, I sat down with a number of their friends, fans and not-so-fans.





	Mapping the Malfoys: Perspectives on Magical Britain's Latest It Couple

To commemorate the engagement of Mr Lucius Malfoy to Miss Narcissa Black, I sat down with a number of their friends, fans and not-so-fans. The couple are certainly memorable, and throughout their Hogwarts years left their respective marks on everyone who encountered them. In times such as these, it comes as no surprise that not all were happy to have been so marked—but whether out of delight or disdain, British magical society's collective breath is held in anticipation of the upcoming Malfoy-Black wedding, which its participants promise will outdo even the infamously lavish Lestrange-Black wedding of last year.

'At least twice as large,' Lucius promised smoothly when I met with him to discuss his imminent nuptials. 'The Malfoy vaults are rather deeper than those of the Lestranges, reputable though their family name may be.'

The issue of which Sacred Twenty-Eight families are, to put it one way, just a little more sacred than the others, has been a hot button one in pureblood circles for countless generations. Malfoy's apparent unconcern for the Lestranges' higher standing (or higher rates of inbreeding, as critics of the high-pureblood ways usually put it) is belied by a deep interest in the Black family line beginning long before he and Narcissa formed their relationship.

'He's always been obsessed with us,' Rodolphus Lestrange told me when I visited his expansive, if slightly run-down home.

His wife Bellatrix (née Black) laughed unabashedly at his gruff commentary.

A house-elf brought us strongly-brewed tea in a heavy black teapot, offering milk but not sugar. I watched the couple sip their drinks before tasting mine.

'Especially Cissy,' Bellatrix added with another harsh laugh. 'She always had that Malfoy whiteness, you see. Born like that, despite the rest of us. Even her eyes need spells to have any colour in them.

Asked if she means to say that Narcissa Black's distinctive colouring comes from albinism, Bellatrix merely shrugged. 'Does it matter?' she fired back. 'She's got all the right limbs in the right places, and her blood is as pure as any witch's. It's _him_ that needs worrying about. Little Lucy won't tell you so, of course, but the Malfoys have married into all sorts of questionable families over the years. More than one half-blood in the mix. He might be shiny on the outside—but underneath it? Mud and filth. He's right to idolise us, but he's wrong to think he can ever _be_ one of us.'

'Inferior,' Rodolphus said, nodded once in support of his wife. He was a quiet man, at least in my company, but he watched Bellatrix speak with a firm, complete attention and agreed with each outburst as if her words could not have been more his own if they had issued from his own mouth.

'I understand that it's harder to find a good pureblood husband since the Gaunts died out, but Rodophus here has a perfectly good brother she could have chosen instead,' Bellatrix went on. 'But did she listen to me? No. Chose money over purity, she did. They've both got a lot to answer for, if you ask me.'

Indeed, the picture Lucius Malfoy himself painted for me of his family tree was somewhat more flattering. Leading me through the portrait gallery of Malfoy manor—a long room, well-lit and well polished, with a cavernous arching ceiling—he brandished his cane at each animated-oil ancestor he introduced. The cane was as polished as the room, Slytherin green and capped with a silver wyvern's head. He liked to hold it in clear view, as though afraid I would miss it.

Many aspects of Lucius Malfoy gave this impression. His hair, long and painfully straight, flipped as he swiveled. His robes, made of luxurious dark green velvet, billowed behind him as he led me through his house. The rings collected on his fingers flashed, large and inlaid with jewels. He liked to pause his speeches when I had taken too long with my notepad, and wait until I met his eyes once again before continuing. The eyes in question sparkled just a little too brightly to be natural, the result of a bright-eye spell so admirably subtle it must have been perfected over a period of many years.

It was easy to forget the more difficult questions I had come to ask, with so much wealth and finery commanding my attention, but I remembered myself eventually.

On the subject of his family's history, Lucius was the consummate politician.

'Every good match is good for a number of reasons,' he explained. 'Of course, every ideal match should be between equals, and therefore Malfoys past and present have prioritised connecting themselves with Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Occasionally, however, circumstances are  such that new blood invigorates a line. There have not always been Blacks, Lestranges and Gaunts enough to marry, nor have such connections always been the most financially or politically useful. Every sensible pureblood heir must have a mind to continuing his line as well as elevating it.'

'Who is elevating whom, then?' I asked.

Spreading a smile across his mouth, Lucius laughed as if I had shared a joke with him.

'The match is advantageous for both of us; that is what makes it so perfect! Narcissa's bloodline is, of course, quite impeccable. Her beauty and wit are unmatched. And with Malfoy blood, fortune and political power, I venture that nothing will stand in the way of our happiness.'

This was a sentiment mirrored—with perhaps suspicious accuracy—by many of Lucius' political connections. Cornelius Fudge complimented the betrothed couple's combined 'good fortune and influence', staying neutral on the issue of blood, while Bartemius Crouch referred to them as 'a _high-born_ match, of great significance to magical society'. Lucius Malfoy's friend Severus Snape, who practiced aloofness as proficiently as I have ever seen done, spoke of the wizard in such complimentary terms that it seemed to pain him.

Upcoming Ministry man Kingsley Shacklebolt, who graduated from Hogwarts in Narcissa's year, was not so obviously itching to flatter. 'It's none of my business what they do,' he told me as he hurried down Diagon Alley, having found time to speak to me during a brief lunch break. 'So long as they're not trying to enforce their ideals on anyone else, it's fine. Whatever makes them happy.' Beyond this, Shacklebolt was tight-lipped. 'I've probably already said too much,' he said, promptly bidding me farewell and disappearing into the Leaky Cauldron.

The restraint exercised by Shacklebolt in speaking about Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black was beyond the reach (or the desire) of many others.

James Potter, a current Hogwarts student who was in his first year while Lucius Malfoy completed his N.E.W.T.s, lounged on a squashed-looking chaise in his living room and allowed his opinions to run freely. His father, the renowned inventor of _Sleekeazy's_ hair potions, provided his consent to the interview and the use of his son's testimony in it. Fleamont escorted me through to the parlour when I arrived, his son apparently too engrossed in a game of Gobstones with his close friend Sirius Black to hear the wards chime. Young Mr Black excused himself quite suddenly at the sight of me, and Fleamont left with a wink at his son.

'Malfoy's a git,' James told me, before I had asked my first question. 'I won't be surprised if it turns out he's neck deep in that Muggleborn discrimination stuff that's been going on in the Ministry. He was so up himself at Hogwarts. I heard it from Smith that he used to spend a full hour prepping in front of the mirror every morning before breakfast. Brushing his hair a thousand strokes, doing power poses, plumping his lips with bee venom potion. I'd say he had his head up his arse, but there wouldn't be room for it what with so many rungs of the preppy social ladder shoved up there.'

'Can I offer you two any refreshments?' Fleamont interrupted us at one point. I was grateful for the break in James' attention, which was at that time focused entirely on why Slytherin would be losing the Hogwarts House Cup that year and had been for nearly twenty minutes.

'Firewhiskey?' James suggested hopefully.

'Butterbeer it is,' replied Fleamont.

The only time James appeared to apply a filter to his statements was when I asked about the presence of his friend, Sirius.

'He lives with us now,' James told me, crossing his arms and looking hard at me as if he expected a fight. It was the one subject on which he would not elaborate.

Sirius—Narcissa's cousin, who was disowned by the Blacks during his Hogwarts years after sorting as a Gryffindor and vociferously opposing the pureblood values of his relations—was initially reluctant to comment.

'Mate, I really don't know why you're after me for some Malfoy puff piece,' he told me, scratching absentmindedly at the set of scabs capping the knuckles of his right hand. Watching him, I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't had them healed. Had he forgotten, or was it a statement of some sort?

Many things about Sirius Black seemed to be statements. His hair was long like Lucius Malfoy's, but the resemblance ended there, as Sirius' was as dark and tangled as Lucius' was white-blond and well-brushed. Sirius wore a band t-shirt, holey-kneed jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket, all as Muggle as can be. His fingernails were covered in chipped purple varnish, which he also picked at with fidgeting hands. The statement was clear: _I am not what you want me to be._

After I assured him that my role was simply to gather facts and opinions rather than to advertise the Malfoy-Black causes on their behalf, Sirius opened up. His commentary was, to say the least, candid:

'Malfoy's an utter dickhead,' he impressed upon me several times during our conversation. 'Just a complete cock, really. I've never met anybody so goddamn obsessed with being a member of the Black family who wasn't one already. If he could become an even bigger, more inbred prat than he already is, Lucius Malfoy would think all his fucking Christmases had come at once. Imagine! My feet have six fucking toes each, you know? Have to get all my shoes altered. And Cissa's like one of those white ferrets with the red eyes before she does herself up every morning. Malfoy should be careful what he wishes for.'

After my meetings with James and Sirius, I was contacted by a Mr Remus Lupin and a Miss Lily Evans, who were close friends of theirs and eager to pass similarly scathing judgment on Mr Malfoy and Miss Black. I confess that I agreed to meet with them more for my personal amusement than because I needed further high-school toned testimony for this piece. It became apparent once I sat down in our shadowy booth at the Hog's Head, however, that these two would be different.

Remus was very reserved, but seemed to have a quiet stubbornness about him, like he was always clenching his fists beneath the table. Lily was as vibrant as her orange hair, always making sly jokes and laughing at them herself before her audience had even quite grasped why what she'd said was funny.

'I'm craving the steak,' said Remus, when Lily asked what we'd all like to eat.

' _Oh_ good idea Remy. Two steaks! And you?' Lily turned to me. I shook my head, having already eaten.

'You can have some of the table chips,' she decided, and hailed the large, grizzled-looking pub attendant to take our orders.

'So, Malfoy and Narcissa,' Lily said, making a face, at which Remus chuckled.

'Why Narcissa?' I asked. 'Are the two of you closer?'

Lily threw her head back, like this was the most hilarious thing she had ever heard. 'Definitely not,' she said.

'It's just that for us, Black means Sirius,' Remus leapt in to explain, seemingly energised by the mention of his friend.

'Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black are no friends of ours,' Lily told me firmly.

Asked why, she explained very levelly that they were contributing to contemporary politics' marginalisation of Muggleborn witches and wizards (like herself, she added proudly), as well as half-bloods, racially and sexually diverse individuals and sentient magical creatures.

Impressed with her forthright articulateness, I suggested she enter politics herself after graduating.

'The way things are going,' she said, grim all of a sudden, 'diplomacy won't be enough to fix this stuff by the time I could have any influence.'

Remus, appearing uncomfortable with the trajectory of the conversation, returned us to our subject with an anecdote about Lucius Malfoy's custom-made Prefect robes.

'Everything he owned had the Malfoy family crest sewn into it, instead of his name,' he laughed. 'But the Prefect robes were lined with satin printed with the letter _M_. Sirius and James could hardly even figure out how best to mock him for it.'

First years mocking seventh years? Apparently so.

'Malfoy would react to anybody who said anything about him. Sirius was already aware of this, having grown up in pureblood circles. James had figured it out by the time the Hogwarts Express got to Hogsmeade station. Malfoy told him to do his top button up and he wouldn't. He had five weeks of detention before he even set foot in the school.'

Lily and Remus both smiled fondly.

Such ready opinions on Narcissa Black were more difficult to find, perhaps because of the Black family reputation.

'I heard Narcissa does broom advertisements,' Helen Rosier told me. She spoke softly, voice full of awe. 'In _Japan_.'

'Don't be stupid,' snapped her friend, Valeria Greengrass, whom I sat down with them concurrently at Madam Puddifoot's. 'Why would Narcissa Black do advertisements in Japan? She did them in France, _obviously_.'

On my way back from Hogsmeade I encountered Arthur Weasley, a Ministry colleague of young Shacklebolt's. On the subject of the Blacks, he said: 'Can't exactly speak ill of them, can I? That'd be career suicide.'

Despite this declaration, however, Weasley proceeded to explain in some detail how a Bill which Cygnus Black had recently put before the Wizengamot would deprive magical society of the valuable learning experiences Muggle cultures could provide. 'Short-sighted,' he said, shaking his head. 'Insular. Some of those Sacred Twenty-Eight families really haven't learned from the Gaunts... but that's up to them. They don't want a Weasley trying to save them from themselves, and you won't see me volunteering.'

Perhaps, given their colourful, intergenerational feuds with more conservative purebloods, the Weasleys are not the best example of a family cowed by the House of Black.

'Rosier's terrified of them,' Arthur informed me helpfully when I voiced this conclusion to him. 'And it's not that I'm oblivious to their influence. I just won't do anything except stand up in the face of it. It's as much a Weasley tradition to sort Gryffindor as it is a Black or Malfoy tradition to sort Slytherin.'

Ultimately—though not without some difficulty—I was able to track down one person surely able to give both inside and outside perspectives on Narcissa Black.

Andromeda Tonks (née Black) has lived a quiet life with her Muggleborn husband Ted since her dramatic split from the Black family. Their life has been rather less quiet since the addition of their daughter Nymphadora, who zoomed through the cosy little sitting room as we sat down to tea, tripping over an end table and landing hard on the wooden floor. Neither of her parents seemed very fazed by this display. Ted calmly healed the quick-forming bruise his daughter presented him with, and then sent her on her way.

' _Walk_ ,' Andromeda ordered.

'Yes, Mum,' Nymphadora agreed—but as soon as she was out of the room a series of rapid, clomping footsteps echoed in the hallway.

'She's a bit of a handful,' said Ted.

'She's happy, though,' Andromeda added. 'And free. Every child deserves that chance.'

'You didn't have it.' I spoke cautiously. Andromeda might not have the reputation for volatility that her sister Bellatrix does, but I still found her to be an imposing woman—tall, with impeccable posture and a piercing stare very like her sister's.

'No,' she agreed. 'And neither did Cissy. That's who you're here to ask me about, isn't it?'

'Yes,' I confirmed. 'But anything you can offer about your family—'

Andromeda cut off my ill-phrased question: ' _This_ is my family, not the Blacks.'

'Anything you can offer about the Blacks, then. What were your sisters like, growing up?'

Mrs Tonks sighed. Mr Tonks placed a comforting hand on his wife's knee and cast a quick spell to warm their cooling drinks.

'Nightmares,' said Andromeda. 'We were all nightmares, in our own ways. Bella was exactly how you'd expect. I was always contrary, always asking questions that set our parents off like flames to powder kegs. Sometimes I'd do it on purpose, when the others irritated me. Sending Mother, Father or Auntie Walburga after somebody was always the worst revenge.'

And what of Narcissa?

Andromeda took a long sip of her tea, thinking, before providing an answer. 'Cissy was quieter, but if you looked at her wrong she'd cut you off at the knees before you even realised your mistake. She was always the most acclaimed beauty of us three, too, with her unusual colouring. I know Bella resented that. Myself, I never minded too much; I didn't want the kind of attention she got. Like that Lucius Malfoy—a shallow man and a piece of work, but I'm sure Narcissa will manage him well enough to keep herself happy.'

Was Lucius the main source of this 'attention'?

'Oh yes,' Ted answered this one with a chuckle. 'All through Hogwarts his intentions were clear.'

'He wrote to her every week at school, and almost every day over the summer. He wrote to our parents, too—they hated him at first. Always disliked him, but warmed to the idea of a match when he started getting returns on his investments. Money was one thing he understood better than them. The Black family has chosen blood purity over practical concerns for too many generations; my sisters and I were raised in a grand ruin. The whole house was already just like a mausoleum, and they were, at last, starting to realise they might lose everything if they could not find a solution. They started to allow him to visit, to court. He brought the most ridiculous gifts each time. To be honest, I think most of the ended up in Borgin and Burkes. I can't say what happened between them after that, because I left.'

The defiant tilt of her chin made it clear she would not be saying more.

Still I was left feeling like I knew too little of the bride-to-be.

I sat down with Narcissa Black herself in my own home, as she claimed her own was too occupied with wedding preparations. She apparated to my doorstep in classic midnight blue robes, and her eyes glinted with the same colour. Her hair was pulled high and woven in complex knots that suggested house-elf magic. The style elongated her neck even more than her ice-sculpture posture.

'Can I get you a drink?' I offered.

Narcissa declined, and seated herself elegantly, if a little condescendingly, in one of my armchairs.

'You are writing about me,' she said bluntly. 'What are you writing, exactly?'

'I haven't written much about you at all yet,' I admitted. 'People seem to have more to say about your fiancé. What do you think of that?'

Narcissa flashed me a small smile. 'I'm not surprised,' she said. 'Lucius does tend to cultivate commentary. Personally, I prefer subtlety; but opposites can very well attract.'

'Do you love him?' I asked, surprising myself. It seemed suddenly obvious that nobody had addressed this particular question yet, in any of my many interviews.

'I love what he represents. I love what he can provide me with, both materially and by way of adoration. I love his loyalty, and,' she smirked, 'his good taste. We want the same things from our lives. I believe I will come to love him very well indeed.'

The words themselves may seem lukewarm, but there was something soft around the edges of her features as she spoke about him that made me think there was deep and genuine affection behind her comments.

What are their shared aspirations?

'Family,' Narcissa answered firmly. 'Family before all else. That is where his loyalty appeals to me. Few teenage boys or young men have it in them to commit so fully to wooing one woman, but Lucius did. He had a portrait of me commissioned and placed in his room at Malfoy manor during the summer before our sixth year. It would travel between its frame there and a frame in my own room relaying messages. He wished me sweet dreams every night at nine, which was apparently when he went to sleep.' Narcissa's laugh was teasing but kind.

'Lucius is also focused on prosperity. I realised before my parents did that something had to be done about our situation. My childhood home was falling into ruin by the time I left Hogwarts; my children with Lucius will never want for anything in that way. Nor will they fear ejection from their own home, the way every Black child must. I will love my children, and I feel sure Lucius will do the same.'

No matter what subject we broached, Narcissa found her way back to the notion of her future children.

'I have always wanted to be a mother,' she told me. 'I know not every pureblood girl can accept her duty easily, but for me it was the easiest thing in the world. By the time I was thirteen I was thinking seriously about how I would name my future heirs.'

Will she follow the Black family tradition and give her children celestial names?

'Yes.' About this she was quite adamant. 'I am proud of my heritage, and I have every right to be. My maiden name is as ancient and noble as they come, and although I must leave it behind to join Lucius as a Malfoy, I will not be leaving behind all that being a Black has meant to me. Our heir will bear Lucius' family name, but he will be marked as a Black as well.'

What names has she chosen?

On this, I could not solicit an answer. It seems that we will all have to wait and find out who the next Malfoy-Black heir will be—but if my investigations have qualified me to make any predictions, they would be that he or she will be loved deeply and destined for a controversial strain of greatness in our divided world.


End file.
